He dived into the house, and, deaf to his wife's entreaties and expostulations, armed himself with the formidable rawhide whip in addition to his gun, and flinging the bridle once more across the horse's neck, sprang into the saddle. "Coming, Eustace?" he cried. "No. I think not. The sheep can't be far off, and you can easily bring them in, even if, as is not unlikely, Goniwe has sloped. Besides, I don't think we ought to leave Eanswyth all alone." With a spluttered exclamation of impatience, Carhayes clapped spurs to his horse and cantered away down the kloof to recover his sheep and execute summary vengeance upon their defective herd. "Do go after him, Eustace. Don't think about me. I don't in the least mind being left alone. Do go. You are the only one who can act as a check upon him, and I fear he will get himself--all of us--into some terrible scrape. I almost hope Goniwe has run away, for if Tom comes across him in his present humour he will half kill the boy." "He won't come across him. On that point you may set your mind quite at ease. He will have no opportunity of getting into hot water, and I certainly shan't think of leaving you alone here to-night for the sake of salvaging a few sheep more or less. We must make up our minds to lose some, I'm afraid, but the bulk of them will be all right." "Still, I wish you'd go," she pursued anxiously. "What if Tom should meet with any Kafirs in the _veldt_ and quarrel with them, as he is sure to do?" "He won't meet any. There isn't a chance of it. Look here, Eanswyth; Tom must take care of himself for once. I'm not going to leave you alone here now for the sake of fifty Toms." "Why! Have you heard anything fresh?" she queried anxiously, detecting a veiled significance in his words. "Certainly not. Nothing at all. Haven't been near Komgha for ten days, and haven't seen anyone since. Now, I'll just take my horse round to the stable and give him a feed--and be with you in a minute." As a matter of fact, there was an _arriere-pensee_ underlying his words. For Eustace had been pondering over Hlangani's strangely worded threat. And it was a strangely worded one. "_You had better have cut off your right hand... for it is better to lose a hand than one's mind_." Carhayes had dismissed it contemptuously from his thoughts, but Eustace Milne, keen-witted, imaginative, had set to work to puzzle it out. Did the Gcaleka chief meditate some more subtle and hellish form of vengeance than the ordinary and commonplace one of mere blood for blood, and, if so, how did he purpose to carry it out? By striking at Carhayes through the one who was dearest to him? Surely. The words seemed to bear just this interpretation--and at the bare contemplation of a frightful danger hanging over Eanswyth, cool, even-minded Eustace Milne, felt the blood flow back to his heart. For he loved her.